


Warm Sand, Toasted Almond

by ThirdGenerationRockette



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Post S2, Sort Of, Will/Jim buddy fic, pre S3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 10:38:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13739100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirdGenerationRockette/pseuds/ThirdGenerationRockette
Summary: They're starting on their fourth drink by the time he feels Jim start to relax beside him. They've talked about the easy things, music mostly, a little about work, and the tension that always seems slightly present in Jim's shoulders when he's around him has noticeably shifted.





	Warm Sand, Toasted Almond

"Jim?" He's baffled at first, the way he always is when he sees someone out of context. Like now, on a Saturday afternoon at a music store in the East Village, neither his neighbourhood nor Jim's...actually, maybe it is Jim's, he has no idea. "Hey...you live down here?"

"Oh, Will? Hey...no, not really, no. I mean, not far..." Jim runs a hand through his hair and grins. "I just...I like this store, they know what they're doing."

"Of _course_ , you play, I knew that, we've played," he says, only vaguely remembering the party at his place the night of the Bin Laden broadcast, the memory of Jim on guitar even more fuzzy. "Looking for something in particular?"

"Nah, just browsing, you know." Jim shrugs, his hand moving from his hair to his pocket, making Will wonder just how intimidating he is that the poor guy always looks on the edge of panic when it's just the two of them. "How about you?"

"In a probably misguided moment of madness, I caved to Mackenzie's repeated efforts to persuade me to teach her to play guitar." He returns Jim's shrug even as he realises the idea of quiet nights with just Mac and his guitar isn't entirely awful. "So I figured I should pick up some sheet music to get started. Something she likes, something to stop her getting bored within the first five minutes."

"Wow, really? She's a raging fucking perfectionist, you know...God, of course you know, sorry, but yeah..." Jim trails off, lets out a huff of laughter. "Good luck with that."

"Yeah, she's a perfectionist without a fucking scrap of patience. So..." He pauses, pulls out a couple of selections and waves them vaguely in Jim's direction. "I figure if The Beatles can't do it, nothing can."

"Seems like a decent motto in general," Jim says, turning slightly. "Well, I'll leave you to it, I-"

"Don't suppose you want to grab a beer?" The offer surprises him as much as it does Jim, and the pause is just long enough that he's about to rescind it when Jim nods.

"Sure, yeah, why not," Jim clears his throat nervously and drops the pluck he apparently forgot he was holding. "Shit."

"Alright, I'll pay and then let's get out of here." If anything is clear, it's that he needs to work at bonding with Jim. He knows how important Jim is to Mackenzie, so if he can at least reach the point where Jim doesn't look like he wants to run every time he talks to him, it'll be a start.

*

They're starting on their fourth drink by the time he feels Jim start to relax beside him. They've talked about the easy things, music mostly, a little about work, and the tension that always seems slightly present in Jim's shoulders when he's around him has noticeably shifted.

"We should play again some time, you and me," he says, picking up his beer and glancing at Jim over the top of the glass.

"I'm not sure I'm quite in your league." Jim shrugs sheepishly, but there's a definite trace of a smile in his eyes.

"Did I not mention I'm trying to teach Mackenzie?" He smirks and Jim laughs. "And I _will_ deny saying that if I'm asked."

"Fair enough," Jim says. "You guys didn't have plans today?"

"Not until Mackenzie decided the plan was to spend hours, and I mean fucking _hours_ , poring over fabric samples," he says, wondering if he's going to get home to discover she's chosen the very first one she had him look at. Or worse, that she's still undecided and decides to start all over again. "I mean a couch just needs to be brown, right? Or beige or whatever, something neutral. It's not like it matters once your ass is on the damn thing."

"I can pretty much guess how that opinion went down with Mac..." Jim grins. "Other than the million couch options, how's the apartment coming along? I'm not sure I've ever seen a person so excited about what I hear is pretty much a gutted shell of a place as Mac was when you guys bought it."

"Well...it feels like we live on a bomb site, we have intermittent power, and having no kitchen means we're living largely on takeout. We sleep on a mattress on the bedroom floor, we sit on buckets while we watch TV, and God help me when we finally have to start choosing bathroom tiles." He pauses and takes a mouthful of beer before returning Jim's grin. "But you know what, it's pretty great."

"Mac used to talk about that a lot, you know, when we were overseas. Having a place of her own, a home, and I kind of got the idea she'd given up on it ever happening, like she'd resigned herself to never being settled, or...happy, I guess." Jim stops, reaches for his beer and toys absently with the label on the bottle. "She's not wrong often, but I'm glad she was on this one."

"So...that was a pretty big move for you, embedding," he says, unsure of how much Jim likes to talk about that time, happy to move on if the answer is not at all. "You'd only been with CNN for what? A year?"

"Eight months, producing in Atlanta. It was fine, it was a good start and it was really good experience, you know, but then in blew Hurricane Mackenzie and the next thing I knew I was on a plane to Kabul wondering what the fuck I'd just signed up for," Jim says with a hint of a grin on his face. "I'm not sure either one of us thought we'd be out there as long as we were, but it was good work, it was tough, and challenging, and risky. Scary as hell some of the time but really rewarding. I sometimes wonder how much longer we'd have stayed if it hadn't been for...well, if she hadn't, you know..."

"Yeah, I know." He nods and they fall silent, and he can't begin to imagine what Jim is remembering right now. He wasn't even there and it makes him feel sick to think about it. "We've talked a lot these last few months, about when we were together before, and what we want now, and about what happened out there, while you guys were embedded. I know what you did for her, Jim, and I know...I'm pretty sure you know how important you are to her, but, well, I don't know if you know how grateful I am too, you know. She's...she's...just, I don't know what the fuck I'd have done if she hadn't come back."

"Yeah." Jim's expression is sober, reminding them both again of how very differently things _could_ have gone, filling Will with relief all over again that she's fine and reminding him how lucky he is to have her back. "I had no idea what you thought of me, you know, when I first came to New York. I thought...well, I figured you just thought I was some rookie idiot, I guess."

"Can I be honest?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"We're three...no, four beers in, Will, sure." Jim gives a half smile and gestures for him to go on.

"My mind was so blown by Charlie bringing her back that I barely noticed anyone she brought with her," he says, vividly recalling feeling like he'd taken a punch to the gut when he walked into the bullpen and saw her standing in front of him. "Then when I finally did, I figured she'd deliberately brought the youngest, most inexperienced team she could find, just to fuck with me."

"Right, yeah," Jim says, a downcast look in his eyes. "Makes sense."

"That's not what I think now, Jim. You _do_ know that, right?" He wonders if Jim has no clue, if he's still under the impression he thinks of him as young and inexperienced, so he doesn't wait for an answer. "Mackenzie has a good eye, and not just for overpriced fucking shoes, she has a real eye for talent, she knows a good producer when she sees one. You're good, Jim, really good, you do a damn good job, and I hope you know that."

"Can I get that in writing?" Jim's expression changes and there's a challenging smirk in his eyes.

"Not a chance," he says, matching the smirk and taking another gulp from his bottle.

"So, The Beatles, huh?" Jim gestures to the sheet music on the bar in front of them. "We played occasionally when we were embedded, we moved around a bit and a guitar would show up from time to time, at some base or other...it's funny how even if people only play a little, they can usually manage some version of a Beatles tune."

"Favourite Beatles song?" he asks, curious suddenly.

"Revolution," Jim answers without hesitation. "Are you about to say Here Comes the Sun?"

"Blackbird," he says, shaking his head. "Here Comes the Sun is Mackenzie's thing. She used to ask me to play it all the damn time when we were first together, she never, ever seemed to get tired of it."

"Ah, that makes so much more sense now," Jim murmurs, a look of realisation dawning in his eyes. "She would never let any of us play that one, or if anyone did she'd always excuse herself. I always thought she just had some irrational dislike for it, but I guess not."

"No, I think that was probably more about not wanting to be reminded of me, especially in a place where there were deadly weapons and no sign of the guy she'd like to have been able to use them on." He gives Jim a wry smile and they fall again into a brief quiet before an idea grabs him. "Hey, you should come over, take a look at the apartment. It's a hell of a mess, but still, come over anyway, see if you can see the potential, say hi to Mac, pick a fucking colour for the couch. What do you say?"

"Sure...wait, now?" Jim frowns, confused slightly.

"Yeah, why not? Unless you need to be somewhere else right now, of course," he says, aware it's Saturday and that Jim probably has exciting plans for the evening.

"No, actually, nowhere in particular. Hallie's away this weekend, so yeah, I can help you out with your fabric dilemma," Jim says, grinning and draining the last of his beer. "Not that I have a clue, but hey, strength in numbers, right?"

"Right." He stands up and drops some cash on the bar, gesturing at Jim to put his wallet away as soon as he sees him reaching for it.

*

"Mac, you home?" It's quiet as they walk into the apartment and the only sign of her is a discarded pile of fabric samples on the floor in the middle of the living room.

"I was about to send out a search party for you," she calls back from the direction of the bedroom, and he grins at Jim, a grin that slides quickly from his face when she appears in the doorway dressed only in her underwear, her eyes widening slightly when she sees Jim beside him. "Might have been a good idea to let me know you weren't coming home alone."

"Um, yeah..." He runs a hand through his hair, torn between wishing he'd thought ahead and wanting to just stare at her because damn, she looks amazing. "Jim's here."

"Yes, I can see that." She shakes her head and lets out a soft laugh, probably at the stricken expression on Jim's face. "Hi Jim."

"Hey Mac, I can go, I just came by to um..." He looks away, down at the floor, across at the window. "Will asked if I wanted to check out the apartment, I can totally just, I mean-"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Jim, relax! It’s not like you haven’t seen me in my underwear before," she says, flashing him a grin before heading back into the bedroom, only to reappear briefly, peeking her head around the door. "Although my assets weren't showcased _quite_ as magnificently as they are right now, I’ll admit that."

"No, well, right...I really should go," Jim says, his hands shoved firmly in his pockets as he shuffles from one foot to the other. "Thanks for the drinks, Will, it was cool, and we should, yeah, we should totally get together and play sometime, we-"

"Look, you're here now, Jim, stay and have a drink." Mackenzie comes back out of the bedroom, now wearing a robe and not looking even slightly embarrassed. "My fiancé here dragged you all the way to the Upper West Side, you may as well have the full tour. We have beer, right, hon?"

"Yeah, I think so,” he says, nodding as Mackenzie walks across the room, leaning up to kiss him, her eyebrow quirking as she pulls back. "What?"

"Seems like _someone_ has already been hitting the beer this afternoon," she says, turning to Jim and smirking. "Here I was, drowning in fabric samples, nobody to help me make the choice between Warm Sand and Toasted Almond, and you two were out drinking away your Saturday?"

"And did you manage to make such an impossible choice?" He asks, running his hand down her arm and squeezing her hand, biting back a grin as Jim’s cheeks colour again, clearly still wishing he’d run right back out the door the second Mackenzie appeared in her underwear.

"I came close but then the pressure became too much, so I gave up eventually and went underwear shopping." There’s a purr in her tone and fuck, if he could physically push Jim out the door without undoing the good work he feels like he just did over the last few hours he really would.

“You know, we already had plenty to drink, I really am good," Jim says, the awkwardness in his tone clear despite his best efforts at nonchalance. "How about a quick tour and then I'll head out and leave you to it. Your evening, I mean, I'll leave you to your evening."

It doesn't take long, given that showing Jim each bare room consists of something along the lines of "empty room, eventually the second bedroom" or "kitchen- just try to imagine it with actual appliances." The whole thing seems longer though, because he keeps feeling Mackenzie's hand on his lower back, or her fingers sliding into his, and his yearning to pull her robe off and properly inspect the fruits of her underwear shopping trip is almost agonising.

"Damn, that's one hell of an impressive view!" Jim's eyes widen as he moves over to the window. "I'd put a window seat here and never move."

"Believe me, I'm tempted..." Mackenzie's eyes follow Jim's, her gaze settling on the lights outside the window, all three of them falling into an admiring silence.

"It's great, guys," Jim says, pulling his jacket back on and turning to face them. "The place, it's real nice."

"Come back when we're done with the renovations, it's going to look amazing," Mackenzie says, smiling at Jim as he starts to move towards the door.

"I totally will." Jim nods. "Alright, I'm out of here. See you Monday."

He smiles and heads out, closing the door behind him. Will is about to speak when Mackenzie grabs his hand and pulls him slowly over to the window, dropping her robe into a satin pool at her feet before turning her back to him, sighing softly. 

"He's right, this really is a _great_ view," she says quietly.

"The view from here right now is pretty damn good too," he says, running his gaze down her back, taking in the curve of her spine, her hips, the soft skin covered by pale blue lace.

"You know why I love this apartment, Billy?" She turns to him and he can't help the Pavlovian response that sees his eyes shift down to her chest, to the matching bra in the same pale blue. "We can see the whole of the city but it feels like they can’t see us at all.”

"Which is good because you're standing right in front of the window in just your underwear?" He grins and runs his finger across her collarbone, running a thumb over one of the coins in her necklace, watching as she bites her lip.

"Mmm, it seems I am," she says, coyly, running her tongue slowly, deliberately across her top lip. "Do you like it? The new underwear?"

"Oh God, yeah." He catches his breath as she grabs his t-shirt and pulls him against her, kissing him and giving him a soft, sweet smile as she pulls back.

"You took Jim for drinks." Her smile grows wider and he feels stupidly proud of himself. "You went for drinks. With Jim."

"We bumped into each other in a music store, we talked, I asked if he wanted to go grab a beer..." He shrugs, mesmerised by the look in her eyes, the sparkle, the tiny crinkles in the corners triggered by her smile.

"I love you," she says, sliding her arms around him and clasping her hands behind his neck, her fingers slipping into his hair, tickling faintly.

"Because I took Jim out for a beer?" He doesn't think so but he does wonder briefly if her reaction to this is indicative of her thinking he's been _completely_ awful to Jim all this time.

"Not just that, obviously. I love you for a million reasons." She pauses, rubs her nose playfully against his as her nails scratch lightly down his neck. "But yeah, right now, you bonding with Jim is definitely one of those reasons."

"Well, good, I'm glad," he says, smiling at her as she pulls back and looks into his eyes. "I should have done it long before now. He's important to you and you're the most important thing in the world to me, so..."

"He is, he's a good guy, Billy," she says, loosening her hold on him and moving her hand to his face, cupping his cheeks and running her thumbs softly across his skin. "And so are you."

"I picked up something for you." He slides his hands down her back, her skin soft and warm under his touch, her eyebrow lifting in curiosity. "You mentioned, a hundred times or so, that you wanted me to teach you guitar, so I figured we should start with something you like."

He steps reluctantly away from her, and crosses the room to where he'd dropped the sheet music onto a decorating table when he walked in. Picking it up, he walks back to her, his eyes skimming over her body as she stands in her underwear, framed in the window like the most glorious painting he can imagine. Handing the music to her, he says nothing, waiting for her reaction.

"You're going to teach me how to play Here Comes the Sun?" She smiles at him, her eyes shining brightly in the dimness of the room.

"Well, I'm going to start with Yellow Submarine and then we'll get to Here Comes the Sun," he says, unsurprised that her first question is about her favourite Beatles song. "Alright?"

"Perfect," she says, looking down again at the music, flicking through the selection he chose before looking back up at him and smiling. "You know what this underwear would like?"

"Ignoring the fact that I think it's pretty unlikely that lace has the power of thought, what _would_ your underwear like?" He steps back a fraction so he can once again look at what she's wearing. Yep, still gorgeous.

"A little outing, hidden under some jeans and a shirt," she says, resting her hand on his chest and smiling. "I'm thinking dinner, somewhere quiet, nothing fancy, just not takeout _again_. I really need a vegetable that isn't glued to a pizza base. And after that, I think this underwear would be totally okay with being peeled gently off by some handsome TV guy with blue eyes and really talented fingers."

"Would the underwear object to being peeled off here, right in front of this window?" Suddenly the idea of her standing totally naked with the city lights in view behind them while he kisses every inch of her is so appealing he can barely think.

"Hmm..." She pauses and runs her finger slowly down one strap of the bra. "The underwear would have absolutely no objections to that."

"Jesus, Mackenzie..." He leans forward, kisses her, softly and with promise. "Get dressed and let's get the hell out of here."

"I have one really important question first," she says, tapping her fingers lightly against his chest.

She steps out of his reach and saunters across the room, his eyes following every slow, tantalising step. When she bends down to scoop something from the floor, he has to bite back a groan at the sight it offers him, and the look in her eyes when she turns back tells him she knew _exactly_ what response her movements would elicit. Holding up two fabric samples, she grins widely at him.

"Warm Sand or Toasted Almond?" she asks, holding the samples up higher, moving them closer to him.

" _That's_ the really important question? Alright, fine." He tilts his head, looking at one, then the second, and frowning. "They literally look exactly the same."

"They _really_ don't," she says, sighing and waving one of the samples at him. "This one, Warm Sand, is clearly three shades lighter. So, in plain English, do you prefer the lighter one or the darker one?"

"I guess...the darker one," he says, hoping he sounds like he gives even a hint of a shit, when he genuinely can see barely a difference.

"I think I prefer the lighter one." She frowns, looks at both samples again and then back at him.

"Then let's go for the lighter one." He shrugs and she rolls her eyes, apparently realising he really doesn't care which one they choose. He wonders if she realises that all he cares about right now is getting the two of them out of the door to dinner so they can come home and he can peel off her new underwear, as instructed.

"You really don't care, do you?" she asks, a trace of amusement threatening her frown.

"I care if it's comfy, I care if you like it, and I'd probably care if one of these samples was purple with green spots and the other one fuchsia fucking pink ..." He pauses and pulls her to him, taking the samples out of her hand and smiling at her. "But they're not, so I really, really don't care. You want the lighter one, let's get the lighter one. There, decision made. Was buying new underwear today this difficult for you?"

"Not in the slightest," she says, shrugging. "It was powder blue or black, and I already have plenty of black."

"Well, if it's any help, I'd have totally gone for powder blue if those were the two options you'd held up in front of me. I _thoroughly_ approve of this choice," he says, raising his eyebrows as she giggles.

"I thought you might. Come on." She takes his hand and starts to lead him towards the bedroom. "The sooner you feed me, the sooner we can come home and you can show me exactly how much you approve."

"Deal." He hurls the fabric samples to the floor and squeezes her hand as her follows her across the room. "Warm Sand, Toasted Almond, whatever."


End file.
